Nothing has been the same since I received that email. I couldn't bring myself to check my inbox since then. The thought of seeing another message from him makes my skin crawl. For the past two weeks, I've been holed up in my apartment, making up excuses to avoid my friends. Every time Sophie or Martin called, I'd say I was busy with work. But the truth is, I was too scared to face the world outside.

There's one thing that has kept me going—writing. I'd fallen into a creative frenzy, the kind that hits you like a bolt of lightning. Maybe it was the isolation, or maybe it was the fear, but words started pouring out of me. I buried myself in my work, writing and researching like a woman possessed. It was the only way I knew how to cope.

Sophie and Martin were thrilled because I was finally meeting deadlines, but Beth—Beth knew something was wrong. She's always been perceptive like that. I hadn't told her about the email, but she thought I was still shaken up over the fire. She didn't know the real reason I was hiding—the reason that made my stomach churn with dread every time I thought about it. My stalker wasn't just some creep lurking in the shadows. He was a murderer.

Three days ago, Beth showed up at my door, her face etched with worry. She had always been brave, the kind of person who faces fear head-on with a determined grin. I admired that about her. But this—this situation was beyond anything we could have imagined. It felt like I was living in a twisted murder mystery, where the killer was right in front of me, and I was the only one who knew the truth. I didn't even tell Beth about the photograph he sent. Dragging her into this nightmare was out of the question.

My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. It was Beth, checking up on me like she'd done every day for the past two weeks.

"I'm too worried for you, Miles. You can't shut yourself in forever."

"I can't, not until they solve that case. Trust me when I tell you, there is a murderer on the loose and don't ask me for the hundredth time how I know. I just know, and you need to listen."

"That's stupidity. Either you tell me what's going on, or you're coming out with me."

"You know I can't. Besides, I've been writing so much every day, I don't want to lose the streak."

"That's exactly the problem. You've been writing so much, cooped up in that tiny room, I'm afraid you might be going a little crazy. You haven't even opened Instagram for a long time. I don't care if you don't tell me, but I want you to drop this crazy act and come home and stay the weekend with me."

"But—"

"Nuh-uh. Just be ready in an hour, and I'm picking you up. I don't want to hear any more excuses, alright?"

"Okay, fine," I sighed, hanging up the phone.

The fear had been eating me alive, making me feel like I'd done something wrong. But Beth was right—how long could I keep hiding, thinking the world was out to get me? I was scared of being stalked, of being hurt, but maybe if Beth was by my side in broad daylight, I wouldn't have so much to fear. Why was I letting this deranged man control my life? He should be the one in prison, not me.

I forced myself to take a shower, scrubbing away the layers of anxiety that had built up over the past two weeks. I put on something nice for a change, grabbed some muffins on my way out, and headed downstairs when I heard Beth's car outside.

"Thanks for coming!" she said as she started the engine and drove away.

"Like I had another choice?" I grinned at her sheepishly, acting like I was hating it, but in truth, stepping out of the house after two weeks felt like a massive weight lifting off my shoulders. It was like I could breathe fresh air for the first time in ages.

We turned the radio up loud, singing along to "Levitating," "Don't Go," and every other pop song that came on. Normally, I would've rolled my eyes at the generic playlist, but today, I found myself screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs. It was like I was trying to drown out the fear with familiar, cringy tunes that made me feel safe. It reminded me of my teenage years when every crisis felt like the end of the world, and my solution was to lock myself in my room, blast pop music, and pretend I was some kind of diva. I guess some habits never die.

In about twenty minutes, we pulled up outside Beth's parents' condo. I always found it amusing that Beth, with her free spirit and wild adventures, still lived at home. You'd think she would've moved out at eighteen, traveled the world, and never looked back. But here she was, sharing a bathroom with her grown-ass brother. He wasn't around much, though—apparently, he worked with the Merchant Marines and was rarely home. Still, the thought of running into him after that disastrous first encounter made me cringe.

Of all the days, I had to meet him, looking wasted and completely out of sorts. On one hand, I hoped he wasn't home so that it would just be me and Beth, having some much-needed girl time. But on the other hand, a small, secret part of me wished I could have another encounter with him—a fresh start. To my partial disappointment, he wasn't home for the weekend.

Beth had the entire day planned out, and I couldn't have been more grateful. We made brisket tacos and martinis together, laughing as we juggled cooking and gossiping about the latest episodes of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills." Beth was addicted to reality TV, especially the ones overflowing with drama. No wonder she was such a socialite—unlike me, who always felt like a fish out of water in social situations. Even that day, I couldn't stop thinking about the night that changed everything. Ugh, I really needed to stop dwelling on it.

Later that evening, we dressed up in bright, bold outfits and headed to the local drag club to support Beth's friend, Vic. At first, I was hesitant to go, but the anonymity of a drag club was exactly what I needed. There, among people living their own double lives, I felt a strange sense of comfort. Vic looked like a total newbie at first, but as soon as he stepped on stage, his entire persona transformed. He performed ABBA with such flair that you'd never guess he wasn't born for the spotlight.

"I wish I could be a Kent Clark or a Hannah Montana, living a secret life at night," I mused to Beth as we cheered for Vic from our booth.

"Well, you could," she teased. "It just depends on what you want to do at night."

"You know what I mean. A secret identity that lets you do whatever you want."

"Let's say you had a secret identity. You could be anonymous. What's the most extreme thing you'd do?"

"What do you mean by extreme? Like drag?"

"Drag is nowhere close to extreme, darling. There's a whole world out there clouded in darkness. This world wakes up at night."

"Like what?"

"Darling, you're not ready for it yet. One night out and you went into your cocoon for two weeks. The world I'm talking about is dark—the underground, and you wouldn't survive a minute."

I laughed. "You're right. But I've got an appetite for a challenge."

"You're in a good mood today, Miles!"

"Actually, yes. I wonder why. Maybe it's this place."

"Or me!" Vic interrupted, hugging us both. "How did you girls enjoy the show?"

"You killed it, queen!" Beth shouted, making sure everyone heard. The room erupted in applause, and I joined in, feeling a warmth I hadn't felt in weeks. If it weren't for Beth, I wouldn't have been in a place like this, surrounded by people I'd never met but somehow felt connected to. How does she find people like this in our small town? Her insatiable desire for mischief was probably what drew her to me in the first place. Maybe, deep down, I craved a bit of that too, but I could never admit it to her.

The three of us spent the night pub-hopping, drinking until we were too tipsy to care about anything. We didn't want the night to end, so we stayed out until they kicked us out at 2 AM. After Vic left for the other side of town, it was just Beth and me, walking down the nearly deserted streets of downtown. Normally, I'd be creeped out, but with Beth by my side and alcohol buzzing in my veins, I felt invincible. That is, until I noticed a group of men trailing behind us. My adrenaline spiked, and I sobered up faster than I'd thought possible. We managed to hail a cab and get home unharmed, and it felt like a small victory. One night out, and I came back unviolated and with no regrets.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Beth asked, wobbling slightly as she unlocked the door.

"I wasn't expecting it, but I want to do it again. I want to do adventurous things."

"I knew it! You're more like me than you think, babe," she teased, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "But don't push yourself too hard. Tonight was a baby step."

"You know, I realized something tonight."

"What's that?"

"I can't keep hiding forever. It's time to face whatever it is I'm so scared of. If I'm going to write stories about bravery and justice, I need to find some courage of my own, right?"

Beth smiled, a soft, understanding look in her eyes. "That's my girl. We'll face it together, whatever it is."

We crashed on the couch, and for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly. No nightmares. No fear. Just the comforting presence of my best friend beside me.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee and breakfast. Beth wasn't in her bed, but she'd left a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand for me, along with a note that said, "Grabbed breakfast from the deli. Let's have a lazy day."

I groaned, feeling the aftereffects of the night before, but a smile tugged at my lips. Beth knew me so well, better than anyone else in the world. We spent the rest of the day lazing around, binge-watching Netflix, and eating our weight in deli food. For a few blissful hours, I almost forgot about everything that had been haunting me. Almost.

When Monday morning rolled around, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I hopped on the bus, taking the long route back home. It was a gorgeous morning, and the sun felt like a warm embrace. For the first time in weeks, I was excited to get back to writing. I had so many ideas swimming in my head that I couldn't wait to get down on paper.

As soon as I walked through the front door, Sophie was there, packing up some boxes in the living room.

"How was your weekend?" she asked with a grin.

"It was amazing. I feel like I've got a new lease on life. How did your meeting go?"

"Fantastic! You won't believe this, but I met an investor. He was a new guy I hadn't seen before, but he seemed impressed with my business and wants to invest. Can you believe it?"

"That's incredible, Sophie! Maybe this is the big break we've been waiting for."

"I really hope so. And oh, by the way, he was handsome. Like, super handsome. You've got to meet him sometime. He had this deep, sexy voice and—ugh, I can't even explain it. He was something else."

"I can't wait to hear more, but I've got to get to my room. Let's catch up over dinner?" I said, already halfway up the stairs.

"Oh, wait! There was a letter for you. It didn't have a return address or anything. It just says 'Man from the inbox.'"

My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face as I turned back to Sophie. I almost slipped as I hurried down the stairs, grabbing the envelope from her hands without saying a word. I bolted to my room and slammed the door behind me.

My hands were trembling as I tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a message scrawled in a familiar, chilling handwriting:

"Avoid me, and someone dear will pay the price."

The room seemed to close in around me, the walls tightening like a noose. The murderer was out there and I had no way to stop him.